Of Happiness and Other Lies
by Lemonsmile
Summary: During the war, Hermione gets disturbing news concerning a certain Dark Lord. Soon after, she is thrown back in time.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I began this story about half a year ago and have totally disregarded it. At the time, I was in the mood for reading some Tom/Hermione-loving, but my Internet wasn't working and I didn't have the patience to argue in french (yet again) with my landlady. So I just wrote my own story. The concept is nothing new. Hermione travels back in time and meets a young Voldemort. There probably will be violence, non-con, dub-con and such later on in the story, so be warned! Of course, everything belongs to J. K. Rowling.  
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><p><strong>Chapter 1: When One Door Closes..<strong>

They shut the door upon us, before we could enter the room.  
>And it's not the first time.<br>Me, Harry and Ron are standing at the other side of the that blasted door, up to our knees in our shared solitude and uncomprehension as we are again left out of the planning. All we ever have time to see are alarmed faces. Then, as usual, Harry gets upset and Ron tries to calm him with confused reasoning. I try to push away my frustration, turning a deaf-ear to Harry's and Ron's loud voices, just thinking the situation through while a faint crease paints my forehead. They, as in the Order, have not even tried to justify their actions. The door simply closes, a spell is thrown over it to prevent eavesdropping and then, after the time it takes to do whatever the hell it is that they are doing, the door opens again. With Harry sputtering perfectly reasonable nonsense about how we are all over seventeen and therefore allowed to be included in the discussions. Then they, uncomfortably so, tells us that we can't. Nothing the more, nothing the less.  
>They never say it does not concern us. Then again, of course it concerns us. Here we have, the boy who lived, anticipating his final call for that final superhero-act. One would have to be a simpleton to not see that is it about us, or specifically – Harry. Most likely, something undeniably agitating is in store for him, and no one dares to tell the poor bloke. If it is out of moral values or to oblige fate, either way - he and thus also we - are not to be included.<br>"Easy mate, I'm upset too, but it's not like we can do anything about it," Ron sighs from his spot on the staircase.  
>"They can't do this to us!" Harry yells in return, not listening. "We're all of age and and.. and I'm more included in this war than any of the others! I'm the one that have to face Voldemort!"<br>..It's the same harangue as usual. I love Harry, but for a boy that's been through an awful much, he can be terribly repetative.  
>"Harry. I know. Everyone knows. You're the chosen one. And even though I don't agree with their treatment of us, there have to be a reason for it. They wouldn't do this to us out of mere spite. You have to be logical about this."<br>The boy who lived looks down at the floor, sighs and lets the arms he's been holding at the sides fall down.  
>"Hermione, you don't get it.. or maybe you do, I don't know.. I HAVE been logical about it. That's what troubles me – the only reason they won't let us in on their conversation is because they don't want to worry me. There's something horrible going on that they won't tell me about. But shouldn't I have the right to know?"<br>Ron grows pale.  
>"You don't think they would do that to Harry do you?" he asks with his face turned towards me. "I mean.. He's like the last hope. They would tell Harry if it was important, wouldn't they?"<br>I let out a breath, folding my arms.  
>"I don't know Ron. Sometimes it can be more human to <em>not <em>to tell a person something."  
>"BUT.." Harry bursts but then decides to quiet down. "The uncertainty of it all," he adds, muttering, "That's what's going to kill me." He sits down next to Ron on the stairs. He is going to go over to being silent and gloomy now, going into himself and fruitlessly ponder things further. I don't blame him though. I hate not knowing something, but knowing and at the same time not knowing something important that most likely concerns <em>me<em> – I'd be bound to go crazy.  
>With a "good night", Harry and Ron soon leaves their seat on the stairs to attend sleep. Not that they are going to recieve it anyway. Often I see them both come down for breakfast with dark circles under their eyes, circles not much unlike my own. I also have trouble sleeping, I believe it to be a natural consequence of the war.<p>

I go to look for a book to read in the little library of Grimmauld Place, when I can feel my arm being tugged at. It is Professor Snape, held back by an angry Remus. When Snape has my attention he quickly lets go of my arm and with a pointed look tells Remus to do the same with his. When I open my mouth to speak he quickly silence me with a spell, thus making my face crumble in confusion. He points at the door leading to the bathroom and with an ambivalent nod from Remus, I enter it, being the curious creature that I am. They follow behind me and closes the door. The bathroom is smaller than I remember it to be and is crowded with three full grown up persons in it. I can see the uneasiness of the two men and have the instict feeling of letting out a laugh. Which I don't, even with the silencing charm. Remus back is pressed up against the sink and directly in front of him, stands Snape, practically in the bathtub. His greasy hair has gotten caught up by the yellow drape - stuck by the electricity. I, on the other hand, are basically forced to sit on the toilet in the corner. The image is too bizarre.  
>"So what did you say that you wanted?" I ask, rediscovering my mute state. With a lazy wave of the hand, Snape releases me from it. I harkle and repeat the question. Remus is looking from Snape to me and back with a worried look which origin I am reluctantly willing to find out.<br>"Hermione, I'm sure that you of all people understand that we've had our reasons for not sharing certain things with you three. The war is hard on all of us and it's not easy to say.."  
>Snape rolls his eyes and interrupts: "Enough of this sentimental nonsense," he says in his deep, dry voice, "I'm perfectly sure that Miss Granger understands the weight of which we are all put under." He turns towards me. "The reason that we've so unceremoniously have dragged you into this bathroom Miss Granger, is that new information about the Dark Lord has come to surface. Important information. You would not by any chance, know of this information of which I speak of, would you?"<br>I look at him, puzzled. Both him and Remus are staring at me intensely, as if checking my reaction to his words.  
>"No," I say, looking emptily at Snape's hair which is still glued to the yellow drape. As if hopig to find the answer there. Snape's face doesn't betray any emotions and he continues as before while Remus is looking as worried as ever.<br>"I believe - and Remus half-agrees with me-," the blackhaired man look at his forner enemy who simply shakes his shoulders. "-that it is better to let you know the danger of which you're put under so that you can begin to prepare.."  
>"And let me just say Hermione, that we will do our best.." Remus interrupts, putting an hand on my shoulder and squeezing it a little too hard, making me flinch.<br>"For goodness sake dog, let me finish!" I jump at the sound. Thinking I've never seen Snape quite this emotional. Not that he has reached a state of humaness yet.. but still..  
>Remus opens his mouth as if to say something, but he isn't able to, because then I interrupt the both of them.<br>"Why are you telling me this? I mean.. why not Harry or Ron? Why are you telling _me_ this?"  
>Snape sighs.<br>"As I've been trying to tell you Miss Granger, this is not a matter that concerns them. Letting them in on this conversation would only complicate things further, seeing as they are both of the impulsive kind.." Remus and I send him a warning glare and he rolls his eyes, "..either way. I hope you understand that this, which I'm about to say, can only stay between the three of us. To the others, this meeting has never taken place. Agreed?"  
>I nod eagerly. Just wanting him to spit it out already.<br>"It's seems that the Dark Lord's focus has been much different than he has let on. Mr. Potter, while still in lethal danger, is only his second target. It would seem, Miss Granger.." he exhales and looks me stintly in the eye "..that you are his first."  
>For a second I can only stare at him. I hold my breath until my lungs clench in pain and just then I release it. Feeling unable to functioning completely.<br>"What do you mean?" I ask him. Since it's seems like the only reasonable thing to say.  
>Remus answers this time.<br>"It would seem that the Dark Lord has taken a personal interest in you, Hermione. The origin of that, we can not be sure of. But we will do our best to protect you and make sure that he can't approach you under any given circumstances."  
>I just look at him. My brown eyes wide in surprise.<br>"But.. Why? What.. I mean. What is Harry? I'm not really.. I mean I'm.." I close my mouth, seeing as I've suddenly switched language and conquered gibberish.  
>"Mr. Potter is simply an obstacle for him. You - are his goal."<br>"So he wants to kill me more than Harry? Is that what you're saying? Because excuse me sirs, but that doesn't make any sense what so ever!" I yell in a pitch voice and raise from the toilet seat. They hush me as if I'm attracting attention, which I am not, seeing as they've put up a silencing charm on the door.  
>"Why? That's all I need to know. Why?" I turn my hands, palms flat up in the air in an exhausted gesture.<br>"We can not be sure, Miss Granger. It does not seem as if he wishes to kill you, in fact he has declared that no one is to harm you. You're to be captured and taken to him when he has killed Harry, that is his plan."  
>Slowly, I sit down again. Muttering: "Probably so he can have the pleasure of killing me himself, that stupid, snakefaced bastard."<br>Remus gives a hint of a smile, but Snape remains in his serious mood (-as if he has an other?).  
>"Miss Granger.."<br>"..It's still doesn't make any sense," I continue. "Are you sure you're not mistaken?"  
>"Quite. Miss Granger, please take my advice and do not transfer this information to Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. Knowing would not benefit them in any way." His tone is demanding. He has his bony hand stretched out and is moving it up and down, as if beating a drum, to the tact of the syllables. Like he wants to hammer the words into my head.<br>I question his words, in the moment they seem wrong. Of course I should share this knowledge with my two best friends! But then I wonder.. Seeing as, Professor Snape said, they would not benefit from it. Probably the opposite. Harry would find a way to blame himself, being the martyr he is and Ron.. Ron would be unbearably overprotective. No, I shall not tell them. Not now. Not when only suffering can come from it.  
>I still can not believe that it really is me, Professor Snape are referring to. That I am Voldemort's number one target. It doesn't scare me though. Simply because I have yet to have time to let it sink in. I am and am going to be, objective about this. Come what may, I am to remain Hermione Granger. Muggleborn extraordinaire. The brighest witch of her age. All that and more.<br>I be damned if I let that snakefaced bastard catch me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Returning to a place which I never knew.. **

It was the day of the final battle that it happened. I had still managed to not tell Harry or Ron of my unfortunate karma and except for one or two knowing looks from Remus and Professor Snape, I had not thought about what or what not Voldemort might _really_ want.  
>Ok, that's a lie. I had been going mad over it. Mad - angrily confused - but at the same time grateful of Snape's and Remus's choice to tell me. It would seem that all the other members of the Order knew as well, all except from Harry, Ron and of course the ever so irresponsible Weasley-twins. After the confession, I was able to read it all in their faces. The Order members faces that is. Seeing the quizzical looks that I befored had not taken time to notice.<br>Today though, they didn't matter. All I wanted, was for me and my allies to come out of this mess somewhat alive and preferably at the winning side.

"This is it," Ron had said, taking my hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. I had returned it, turning my head towards him just the tiniest bit and sending him an anxious smile, that held more similarities to a grimace.

Then, somehow, I ended up alone. Battling an arrogant Dolohov in a teared down corridor in Hogwarts.

"See how you like this mudblood!" he yelled and threw a orange spell at me. Undoubtedly painful if it was to reach my body. Luckily, I was able to put up a charm and the spell bounced right back to Dolohov who with a lazy gesture made it dissolve.  
>It was then I felt it. A dark, forbidding presence enveloped me and black smoke blurred my vision.<p>

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," I heard and I turned around, already knowing which sight waited me.  
>And there he stood. Closer up than I ever had seen him. I can't say that all that soul-splitting had done a whole lot of good for his looks. He had lost all the pigment of his skin and the eyes were, as commonly known, a terrifying shade of red. Instead of a nose he only had two holes at the middle of his face and his thin lips were turned up, holding the most uncomfortable of smiles.<p>

"I've been expecting you," he says.  
>I'm trembling, feeling my nerves so hard I am surprised they have not jumped out of my skin yet. Still, I manage to put on, what I like to think, is a brave face.<p>

"Is this your version of a tea party then?" I ask, wanting to call him Tom in that demeaning way which Harry manages, but not daring to.  
>He smiles even harder. 'Harder' because smiling seems hard to him. He fingers his wand in a thoughtful way. I stand ready. Anticipating his strike.<p>

"Hermione. You have not changed. I am almost sorry to send you back." He steps forward and I instinctively take a step back, to his amusement.  
>With the hand that is not holding his wand he picks up one of the curls of my hair. Separating the hair gently against his thumb and index finger while looking at me with an intense stare. I stand still, not because I want to, but because I find myself unable to move. After I had stepped backwards I had tried to strike, feeling my body being restrained from doing so. Now I am only focusing on breathing. On not panicking. Trying to analyse his stare while wanting to turn my head away. Not wishing his ugly face to be the last thing I see in life.<br>"But then again. I will see you soon. Take care, Hermione," he says and I panic as I see dark flakes of magic evapourating from his wand, laying itself gently upon me, until there is nothing more, than a white light.

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><p>I wake up at the nursery in Hogwarts. Recognizing the smell of boiled dragon's tail and seeing a characteristic yellow light dip in through the big windows. I merely have time to sit up when I hear a boy's hysterical cry: "Miss Marple, Miss Marple, she's awake now!"<br>Gently, I turn my head to see a blackhaired boy sitting at a stool at the foot of my bed. He has turned his entire torso away in order to call upon this Miss Marple. When he looks upon me again I can see a light blush spread across his cheeks, like he has been playing in the snow. He can not be more than fifteen or sixteen. A little bit bony, but quite long, even while sitting. His eyes shines with overexcitement as he scrutinizes me and I think that is what makes him look so very boyish - puppylike almost.

"Quiet down Oliver, unless you want to wake up the rest of the castle too." A plump woman with blond curls and a white robe appears from behind the drapes. She gives Oliver an irritated glare, to which he responds to by becoming more red. But I don't miss the fondness of that glare either, like a caring mother scolding her child.  
>Then her eyes falls upon me, looking me up and down as if checking for injures. I want to ask where Miss Pomfrey is but a gut feeling tells me I should hold my tongue. I give a timid smile, which the woman returns with a big, bright one.<p>

"Overall you seem fine Miss, if not for a few superficial wounds, which I took the liberty of treating. How do you feel?"  
>My mouth and throat are achingly dry I notice, and I move my tongue in order to collect saliva before answering.<p>

"Exhausted," I say, honestly so.  
>She laughs and the blackhaired boy giggles.<p>

"It's excpected. You've been out of it for nearly twentyfour hours. Oliver here," she points at the boy who smiles nervously, "-found you in the Astronomy tower the night before and has been guarding you ever since."  
>Letting the words sink into my head I turn to look upon the boy and say: "That's very kind of you."<br>He blushes slightly.

"I was just doing my job," he replies. "I'm a prefect you see." He proudly points at the badge. Undoubtedly an Hogwarts prefect and student. How come I have never seen him before?

"Excuse me, Miss, which year is this?" I ask after a little while of them both watching me.  
>Miss Marple squints her eyes as if considering to add amnesia to my journal. "The year is 1945, why do you ask?"<br>I keep my eyes from falling out of my head. Merely nodding lightly while drinking the cup of water she has handed me. I swallow while feeling both of them stare at me intensly.

"Just checking," I say and give a reassuring smile. Miss Marple nods and goes away to check on another patient who's face I can not see for the drapes, but who has his leg in a cast.

"And you Miss, where are you from?" Oliver asks then. Bending forward so he has his elbows on his knees. I notice he have a hard time sitting still in his chair.

"I'm from Toulouse," I lie. Quickly building up a story in my head. "It's in the south of France."

"You don't sound french," he says, almost accusingly, which he probably hears himself because he bites his lips in regret right after.

"My parents are English, we moved when I was six."

"Oh, I see. Were you a victim of the war then?"  
>I draw a quick breath through my nose at the bold question.<p>

"The war," I say under my breath, looking emptily at the white sheet of my bed. "Yes, I was in the war."  
>Oliver's eyes grows bigger as he leans forward so much I think he is about to fall off the chair. "My parents died in the war," he whispers. "They volunteered to fight against Grindewald, but they died at his wand in Germany." He looks blankly at the floor, his face holding a well-hidden sort of sadness.<p>

"I'm so sorry," I say, honestly. Not wishing to see any more pain than has already been forced upon me.

"That's okay," he then says, his tone remarkably cheerier. "It was a long time ago now."

"So may be it, but those kind of scars take a long time to heal," I say for no reason at all. Do I want to further depress the boy?

His bright smile faints slightly, but remains. "And you? Have you lost anyone in the war?"  
>That question makes my insides twist. Yes, who have I lost? Which ones were hit by a green light when I was not looking?<p>

"I don't know yet," I reply weakly.  
>Thankfully, the boy just nods his head in understandment.<p>

For a while, we just sit in silence, Oliver is watching me and I try to avoid his stare, constantly rearranging the white cover over my body. Suddenly a man, who holds a great similarity to a frog, comes into view. The holes which holds the buttons to his robe are stretched out in order to hold his round belly, which swayes to the sides as he walks. His face lacks countors and his nose is too small on the floating face. But he gives out an aura of being friendly, if not a little dumb.

"Good evening Miss, my name is Professor Dippet, I am the headmaster of this school," he says, stopping at the foot of my bed. "You wouldn't by any chance know where you are would you?" His voice is extremely perky.

"Hogwarts, is it not professor?" I half ask, thinking it won't be weird if the fake-me of this age are aware of the headmaster of the greatest wizarding school in Britain.

"Hogwarts indeed," he says. "Do you know how you came to be found in the Astronamy Tower Miss..?"

"Walters," I add. Saying the first name I can think of. "Hermione Walters. And no, I'm sorry Sir, I don't. I was in the war – in France – and suddenly.." I trail off. He does not delve further into it.

"Very well then, Miss Walters. May I be as rude as to ask for your age as well?"

"I'm seventeen, Professor." It's a lie, I'm eighteen by now, but I wish to secure a place at the school, if he is offering me one.

"And are you educated?"

"I was homeschooled, Sir," I say. Quickly deciding that my father was a wizard and my mother a muggle. Not wanting to fully stray away from my heritage, but compensating a little for the sake of my story.

"Do you think you can manage the seventh-year level?" he asks me, with a concerned frown. I have to hold back the urge to snort.

"Of course, Sir."

"Excellent. Then if you don't have anywhere to go, Miss Walters, I think we can manage to offer you a place at our school. Of course, you're free to go to relatives if.."

"I don't have relatives, Professor," I quickly interject.  
>The frown on his forehead appears again and he looks at a spot directly behind my head.<p>

"No, no.. then you are welcome to stay here Miss Walters. Of course you have to take a test so we can assure that you are at a N.E.W.T-level, but other than that, feel free to roam the castle."  
>His thin lips then gives of a warm smile.<p>

"Thank you very much, Sir. It is very kind of you."  
>He waves his hands in the air.<p>

"Nothing to speak of dear, nothing at all.. Now.." and he turns to Miss Marple to interrogate her further on my injures and the circumstances of which I were found. Oliver gladly adds a line or two to the story and I am amazed to hear that his bony body has been able to carry me all the way from the Astronomy Tower to the nursery. Thinking he would have been better off using a levitating spell, I turn to my side in an futile attempt to fall asleep. Not wanting to think about the thoughts which, in my solitude, begins to form in my head. All circulating around the fact that Voldemort, willingly, has sent me to attend Hogwarts at his final year of school.  
>When sleep comes, it is already dawn.<p>

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><p><strong>AN: The obligatory chapter. Not really that exciting, but quite necessary.**


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